What's in a Name?
by thefalconwarrior
Summary: AKA 5 Times Someone Used Damian's Unofficial Full Name and 1 Time Someone Used the Official One. In which Jason makes an observation and a declaration, Dick, Tim, and Cass are his minions, Damian does not understand his siblings, Alfred approves, and Bruce tries something scary.
1. 1 Jason

_**A/N- **_Here's to authors who write three different stories with three different moods all at once. You're amazing. This is hard.

This is Prompt #9-Precious (which is, to be honest, not normally a word I would connect with Damian Wayne) which is going to be a lighthearted piece. Very unlike the...angst-fest, I suppose you could call it...which is No Stars in Gotham. And because it's summer break and I'll have time to write-I'll probably go ahead and start soon. Well. Yay?

Well. Without further ado...

* * *

**What's in a Name?**

_AKA 5 Times Someone Used Damian's Unofficial Full Name and 1 Time Someone used the Official One_

1\. Jason

It started, as these things usually do, with a lazy day at Wayne Manor.

It started with all five, bored Wayne kids gathered in a family room.

It started with an insult war.

It started, as such _spectacular_ messes tended to, with Jason.

The day was hot and humid. Wayne manor, being Wayne Manor, obviously had a central air conditioning system. But for reasons that Damian Wayne would never be able to comprehend, his older siblings preferred to lounge about the room with the windows thrown open and all the fans turned on, complaining about the heat and humidity, snapping and generally being irritable at each other.

(He suspected it to do with the fact that they were all former street children. He would also deny he got that idea from Jason.)

"Oi, Goldie," Jason called from where he was laying on his back on the floor, a book held inches from his face. "Quit hogging the fan."

Dick looked up from the armchair he had plopped into. He was sitting sideways, legs dangling off one end, a Wayne Enterprises tablet set up on his knees. "There's three fans in here, Jay, get your own."

"And there are FIVE of us in here," Jason pointed out. "We can't each have our own fans, Dickie, physically speaking. Thought ya knew basic math. Basic as in, ya know, preschool level."

"I'm the oldest, that gives me the right to my own fan."

Damian snorted. Entering the conversation was probably unwise, but he couldn't resist every time any mention of some sort of...superiority entered the arena. (And no, it was not because he was self-conscious about his place in the family, whatever Drake said, he was the blood son and—well. Never mind.)

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Grayson."

Dick waved a hand at him, eyes still on his tablet. "Siblings 101," he announced. "Oldest gets privileges."

"Siblings? Ah. No wonder none of us knew these rules."

Tim looked up, eyebrow raised. He was sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, various folders and papers held down by all manner of paperweights—the television remote, a coffee mug, _was that Damian's pencil case_?!-fluttering in the wind from the fans.

"Really, Jason? Back to that? And I thought you were getting better at holding your own in a snark fight."

"Hah, speak for yourself. Middle child gets the short straw, right? Shove that fan over."

"I'm not the middle child, that's Cass."

Across from Tim, Cass pointed a finger at Jason, eyes narrowed. "You can't have my fan, Jason."

"Cass is the girl," Jason said smoothly. "So she doesn't count, which means we skip to the next person. And that's you, Timbo. Siblings 101."

"Sounds more like Siblings 203," Dick interjected.

"And that's because I am better educated than any of you."

"In the art of family?" Damian snorted. "Todd, you are the _least experienced_ of us all. Until recently you were quite eager to murder all of us."

"I'm a fast learner," Jason countered. "And you were all acting very murderable and besides—Siblings 101—it is _normal_ to want to murder your siblings once in a while."

"I'm pretty sure the 'once in a while' is important," Tim noted.

"Ah, what'd you know, Replacement, you were a lonely only like the rest of us."

"Lonely only?" Cass and Dick repeated at the same time, and Jason pointed a finger at them.

"You can't do that, you're not twins."

"All hail Jason Peter Todd," Tim said drily. "High Lord over the laws of siblinghood."

"And don't you forget it, Replacement."

"Oh, sorry, were you talking to me? By the way—what the heck kind of insult is 'Replacement' anyways? The more you say it the more it sounds like it has to do with a table setting."

"It's not an insult, it's a fact," Jason scoffed. "And I thought you were the smart one?" Tim opened his mouth to retort but Jason spoke over him. "See, I'm the replacement for Golden Boy, you're the replacement for me, Cass is Cass, and Demon Brat is the replacement for you. I mean, why the hell else would Bruce adopt _four_ black-haired blue-eyed almost-white siblingless street kids with tragic backstories and their dad's names as middle names?"

Cass chuckled.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Middle names? That's a new one."

Dick sat up to look at Jason. "But I thought your dad's name was Willis?"

Jason shrugged. "Peter Willis Todd, went by Willis. Dunno why. Don't care either."

"More importantly," Tim interjected, "_street kids_?"

Jason nodded sagely. "Well, Dickie here was on the streets for a bit after running from JDC, yeah?" Dick nodded slowly. "Well, that makes him a street kid. And you might've had fancy-pants rich parents, Timmy boy, but you _also_ spent every night since you were like, five, running the streets, yeah? Street kid." He looked smug.

Damian waited a moment, but Jason appeared to be done. Annoyed and a little insulted, he cleared his throat. "I'd like to point out that your arguments are _completely incorrect_, seeing as I am neither a "street kid" nor do I have Father's name as my middle name."

Four sets of eyes swung towards him.

"Hm," Cass said (Damian had no idea what exactly it was supposed to mean).

"True," Dick admitted.

"Seriously?" Jason looked intrigued.

"Wait, what _is_ your middle name then?" Tim asked.

Damian rolled his eyes. "I don't _have one_, Drake."

"Somehow that really doesn't sound right," Dick said slowly.

The following moments of silence made Damian uncomfortable. Those moments of silence, he knew, never meant anything good.

"Damian Bruce Wayne," Jason announced.

Ah. Point proven. He opened his mouth to protest.

"Sounds good," Cass said solemnly. Dick and Tim were nodding their agreement.

"Don't be inane, Todd. You cannot _simply—declare_ a name for me."

Jason smirked at him before dropping to his back again. "Well, we'll just see about that, Damian B. Wayne. Now, _Replacement,_ if you could FINALLY shove that fan over."

* * *

**_A/N:_** Yeah, so I messed with Jason's dad's name to fit into the story. But hey, it could completely have happened. Maybe Willis Todd hated whichever Peter he was named after. (Also when I first got this idea I genuinely couldn't remember his name so...)


	2. 2 Tim

2\. Tim

He should have known better, really, but the thing was, when Damian opened the secure messaging system to find the file from Drake, he was genuinely confused.

_DBW-Case 142._

Drake was not in his bedroom, nor the most-frequented family room, the library, or the least-frequented family room. Damian encountered Alfred in the kitchen, and decided it was only prudent and time-saving to ask him if he knew where Drake had disappeared to.

"I believe Master Timothy is...downstairs," the butler replied, not turning from the silver he was polishing. Damian could _feel_ the disapproval radiating from him and with a hasty word of thanks, retreated from the room.

* * *

Drake sat before the batcomputer, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the console, hands placed one over the other with his chin resting on top. His overly-large Star Wars mug sat by his left elbow.

"Drake."

Timothy did not move. At all. "Damian."

"I got the file you sent me."

"Do I get a thank you?"

"Tt. Don't be inane, Drake."

"Hmph." Drake dropped his arms and slumped back against the chair. "You know, you all could stand to show a little _appreciation_ once in a while."

"Drake."

"Yes, Damian."

"Why is the file labelled DBW?"

"They're your initials."

"Pardon?"

Drake finally turned his head to send Damian a raised eyebrow before turning back to the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. "It stands for Demon Brat Wayne. Don't be _inane_, Damian. Damian Bruce Wayne. DBW? C'mon, I know I'm supposed to be the smart one but _seriously."_

Damian Bruce—what? Damian scowled and folded his arms. "Tt. I don't see how you can claim to be the smart one after that statement, Drake."

Drake paused, and turned to look at him, both eyebrows raised.

Damian bristled, and finally clarified. "That is _not_ my name."

Timothy stared for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "Ah, Damian." He turned back to the screen and said no more.

It was Tim's patented I'm-just-going-to-walk-away-because-you-are-obviously-delusional-and-it-is-no-use-explaining-anything-to-you gesture.

Damian hated that one.

"That is not my name," Damian insisted, "no matter _what_ you and Todd claim," and no, he did _not_ stomp back up the stairs.

* * *

A/N: I have a lovely Star Wars mug that has labelled lightsaber hilts in a ring at the bottom. When you pour in hot water, the lightsabers activate, rising with the water level. It was a present from my sister and I adore it. Tim's is a present from his sister and he adores it. (Because Tim was totally a Star Wars fan, and c'mon, it's an awesome mug.)


	3. 3 Dick

3\. Dick

* * *

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous (and a little out of hand.)

* * *

Damian raised his eyes to the sky and wondered just _how_ he'd ended up in this situation.

He stood under a hoop in the basketball court beside the playground at Robbins Park (Ivy was in Arkham, currently, so Gotham, being Gotham, was making full use of the park while they could.) Jon Kent stood next to him, a basketball clutched tightly to his chest, shifting from one foot to the other. Grayson stood a few feet away with a man in a black suit and a scowl on his face. Dick was speaking and gesturing, a vaguely apologetic look on his face.

If it had been anyone else, Damian would have been keeping a sharp ear on the conversation, but Dick would have it handled. (_Numerous_ episodes involving one or the other of his ridiculous siblings and—alright, himself—utilizing Dick's legendary charm to escape awkward conversations at galas had proved this to him.)

Besides, there was something more pressing on his mind.

Damian leaned over. "_Bruce?" _He hissed. "_Really, _Kent?"

Jon's eyes widened and he threw his hands up. "I'm _sorry_! I panicked!"

"Of all the names-"

"It's just your dad's name! It can't be that bad can it?"

"Come on boys," Dick announced from in front of them. Jon jumped. Damian didn't so much as flinch, choosing to continue glaring at the boy he'd considered a friend.

Dick put a hand on each of their shoulders, turning them around and hurrying them away. Damian couldn't see his face but-

"Would you wipe that ridiculous smile off your face, Grayson."

"I'm not smiling, Dames."

"He's not anymore," Jon confirmed, ducking a quick glance at the man.

"Grayson. If anyone hears of this..."

"My lips are sealed."

Damian grit his teeth. As much as Grayson was an...acceptable brother, he still had his...moments. "Oracle already has film, doesn't she," he said flatly.

Dick squeezed his shoulder. "Sorry, Little D."

"You're smiling again."

"No, I'm not."

"He was," Jon confided. "And he stopped again."

"By the way, Jon, a bit of advice." And he wasn't laughing, but he was _laughing_, Damian could tell. "Come up with a couple of fake names in advance. Something that's a common enough name, but one you can remember quickly—you could even pull a name from a book, or someone at school, if it helps."

Jon ducked his head, blushing.

Damian did not feel the need to interrupt.

"Then if you ever _do_ need an alias," (for real, he doesn't say) "you'll have them ready. Throwing out your middle names isn't usually the best idea. If you're up against someone with malicious intent—and even if they don't have a lot of resources—things could get _bad_ if you give them 'Sam and Bruce' and they find out about a Jonathan Samuel Kent and Damian Bruce Wayne."

He did _not_. "_Grayson!" _he hissed, although now he was wondering why he'd expected any better.

"Better have a name that has no actual connection to you, or at most only a vague one."

Jon was nodding thoughtfully, and Damian knew the exact moment it hit him. His whole body froze.

"Wait, your middle name is Bruce?"

"No," Damian snapped, at the same time that Grayson cheerfully answered "Yup!"

Jon blinked.

They'd reached the parking lot. Grayson ignored Damian's glare as he pulled open the door of his blue mustang. "You guys need a ride?"

"No _thank you_, Grayson," Damian growled, and Dick shot him a grin. He was _laughing_ again, the—

"Alright, I'll see you tonight. Bye, Jon."

He shut the door, started the car and was gone.

"I'm confused."

Damian sighed.

After twenty minutes of trying to explain to Jon the intricacies of the idiotic endeavors of older siblings that only left the boy even _more_ confused (he somehow had this insufferable sense of _awe_ regarding Conner Kent), Damian gave up and simply extracted a promise that Jon _never_ mention the incident, or the "middle name", to _anyone_. _Especially_ not Conner.

Lord knew what a mess it would be if the clone started spreading rumors.

(He hoped it wasn't just a fool's errand.)


End file.
